Matters That Matter ®https://themattersthatmatter.com
Life According to What You ValueFri, 10 Mar 2017 02:20:05 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngMatters That Matter ®https://themattersthatmatter.com
Begin With The End in Mindhttps://themattersthatmatter.com/2016/03/03/begin-with-the-end-in-mind/
https://themattersthatmatter.com/2016/03/03/begin-with-the-end-in-mind/#commentsThu, 03 Mar 2016 03:08:27 +0000http://themattersthatmatter.com/?p=1306]]>No matter what it is, ending well matters.

Whether a much needed vacation, retirement from a meaningful career, ending a relationship, navigating a courageous conversation, saying goodbye to a parent, or the last line in your manuscript, ending well there starts right here. By now we have hopefully learned that absolute control over anything is…well..a joke. However, mindful consideration of a desired outcome can help us better order our steps from here to there. But while we can work mightily to achieve a goal, make things go our way, craft a specific outcome, influence another person, or take all the right steps, there will always be an element of “it’s a crap shoot”. If we focus solely on exactly how we would like things to turn out, we’ve missed the deeper issue. What matters even more than how it turns out, is who we are in that moment. The essence of beginning with the end in mind can be summed up in one question: When the end of whatever “it” is comes, who do we want to be?

Examples of endings are everywhere. Some that end well, and others not so much. Whether you are an NFL fan or not, this years Super Bowl is a prime example. The Carolina Panthers, led by their talented, brash young quarterback Cam Newton, were the hands-down favorite. Expected by everyone, including themselves, to win. They didn’t. By a long shot. An hour after the game, Cam Newton stepped in front of the microphone as the leader of his team, to fulfill his media obligation. Hoodie pulled low over his face, he sat in a chair, eyes down, gave short sullen answers until getting up and walking out mid-interview. Did he want to win? Of course! Why else would he play the game? Had he given thought to who he wanted to be, win or lose? Apparently not. Compare that to last years Super Bowl when the Seattle Seahawks, led by their talented, humble young quarterback Russell Wilson, experienced an even more devastating loss. Expected by many, including themselves to win, they didn’t. Within seconds of winning the game, with that ill-fated, still debated call…. they lost. An hour later Russell Wilson stepped in front of the microphone as the leader of his team, to fulfill his media obligation. Suit and tie, he stood, faced the camera, expressed appreciation for his teammates, took responsibility for the loss, and praised the winning team. Did he want to win? Yes! Why else would he play the game? Had he given thought to who he wanted to be win or lose? Apparently so.

One of the greatest lessons in ending well came for me personally when my mom passed away. Her name was Ashby, and the word that best describes who she was and how she walked through the world is ‘grace’. There was nothing Asbhy loved more than what she liked to call a “good visit”. Whenever you showed up on her doorstep, announced or not, whatever the task at hand was set aside and replaced with a cup of tea, served in her best china. She was short on advice and long on understanding. She loved by listening. The last week of her life we brought her back from the hospital to the home she loved and tucked her into the bed she still shared with my dad. Every day was filled with her grace, along with a constant stream of friends and family who came by for one more good visit. They would sit on her bed and talk to her, sing to her, laugh and cry with her. No longer able to speak, she did what she did best. She loved by listening. After she was gone, I realized that I had been given the opportunity to stand at the end of her life, and look back on my own. From that vantage point I understood that ending her life with grace wasn’t the result of some grand decision, but rather is an accumulation of choices.

As I reflect on this topic I am reminded of something Mr. Carson, the butler of Downton Abbey said. “The business of life is the accumulation of memories. In the end, that’s all we have.” The way in which we end things is either the accumulation of a memory or a regret. To gather more memories, begin with the end in mind.

What endings are on your radar screen? When the end of whatever “it” is comes, who do you want to be? What would ending well in those situations mean? Now is when ending well starts. Here is where it begins. This present moment is what you have to work with.

Filed under: Authenticity, Courage, Grace, Growth, inspiration, Life Lessons, Truth, Uncategorized Tagged: Choices, Ending, matters that matter, Priorities]]>https://themattersthatmatter.com/2016/03/03/begin-with-the-end-in-mind/feed/2mattersthatmatterBecoming a Potter at 61: Kristine’s Storyhttps://themattersthatmatter.com/2016/02/05/becoming-a-potter-at-61-kristines-story/
https://themattersthatmatter.com/2016/02/05/becoming-a-potter-at-61-kristines-story/#commentsFri, 05 Feb 2016 05:19:37 +0000http://themattersthatmatter.com/?p=1304]]>Making small clay creations embellished with her mother’s Norwegian sayings was an outlet for Kristine’s grief after her mom’s passing. Little did she know her porcelain art would become a business, Beanpole Pottery, with orders from as far as Australia. Tell us a little about..

Filed under: Uncategorized]]>https://themattersthatmatter.com/2016/02/05/becoming-a-potter-at-61-kristines-story/feed/3mattersthatmatter2016: A year of Expectation or Anticipation?https://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/12/31/2016-a-year-of-expectation-or-anticipation/
https://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/12/31/2016-a-year-of-expectation-or-anticipation/#commentsThu, 31 Dec 2015 22:05:25 +0000http://themattersthatmatter.com/?p=1263]]>As 2015 draws to a close, Kristine and I send all of you our crazy-deep thanks for walking the planet with us. Our Matters That Matter work continues, and we love it as much as ever. We are also each finding work that fills our individual souls… please, oh please, visit Kristine’s website to see what she is up to… Bean Pole Pottery Every piece she makes takes one’s breath away!

Molly is about to launch her new business – Trailhead Coaching and Consulting. In anticipation for her website going “live” (mid-January) here is a final post to end 2015 well, and step into 2016.

It’s almost here.

A new year.

As I sit at my desk writing this post, outside my window, it’s winter. 3ft of snow, icicles hanging from the roof, the sun moving across the sky while never clearing the tree line, and the world seems to be holding its breath, quietly waiting for…. something.

Just back from visiting friends and family, having spent time with some of those we love most, it seems that there is a theme afoot among those we spend time with. That theme? Anticipation. Every single conversation over the holiday season shed a different speck of the same light on the year ahead. No one knows for sure what is coming, what exactly lies ahead, or what specifically is over the next rise. But one thing they do know for damn sure, is that “it” is coming their way. They are anticipating its arrival, not expecting it. They are preparing for it, not planning for it. They are listening for it, not talking to it. They are holding it lightly, not gripping it tightly.

Expectation is enclosed, signaling a kind of certainty, and like a practical-minded project leader, it is focused on what should happen. Anticipation has an openness to it, a sense of wonder and childlike delight, giddy about what could happen.

Expectation is a spotlight. Anticipation is a sparkler.

Expectation seems cramped, a wee bit suffocating and expects you to color inside the lines. Anticipation feels spacious, with room to breathe and room to roam.

Expectation is certain. Anticipation is curious.

Expectation likes information. Anticipation loves imagination.

Expectation favors control. Anticipation is fond of courage.

Expectation is an expedition. Anticipation is an adventure.

It might be easy to think that they are the same thing, but as we head into a new year, I suggest they are not. We aren’t just haggling over semantics here. Expectation casts the future in concrete, setting us up for disappointment and disillusion, since life rarely works out exactly as planned. Anticipation on the other hand, opens the door to new possibilities, leading us on an adventure of discovery and delight, as life unfolds in new and unexpected ways.

by Molly Davis

A dear friend is moving to a town in Maryland named Havre de Grace….Harbor of Grace. It is a perfectly named town for her new home, as she is a grandmother raising one of her beloved granddaughters who, without the need for any shared details, has found in her grandmother’s love and devotion, a harbor of grace in which to live for a few short years. As a card I recently read said, “A ship in a harbor is safe. But that is not what ships are made for.”…..We are not meant to live in the safe waters of a harbor forever either. But, we all have need of shelter in our storms. Ours is to know when to seek the safety of a harbor, and when to provide that for someone else in need.

My best friend Kristine’s almost 90 year old momma, Darlene, passed away yesterday. During the days and hours and moments before she left us, harbors of grace showed up everywhere.

The doctor in the hospital who helped my friend and her siblings find their way in the midst of fear, pain, guilt, uncertainty and grief. He was able to help them find their way to the trailhead of the last miles they would walk with their mom.

The nurses who tended her around the clock with kindness and gentle humor, mercy and their own brand of magic. They are a special lot. Harbor Masters all. Dedicated to the safekeeping of our harbors, the smooth navigation of our ships, and providing quiet mooring in which to rest.

The hospice staff who educated them on how to love her every step of the way, providing her with ease and freedom from pain and anxiety. During her last few days, Darlene would often look out her window overlooking sun-filled green trees and softly say, “I am so grateful.” Looking into the eyes of each of her three children, she offered them words of love. Those words which became a harbor of grace for her children and grandchildren, who all only wanted to do the right thing for her. And did.

As happens during times such as these, it is so easy to second guess our effort and choices. To wonder about what we did and did not do. When we chose to visit, and when we chose to give in to our own exhaustion, and fall into bed rather than sitting by hers. When we needed to stay away for a bit, in order to stay in for the long haul. Kristine and her brothers became harbors of grace for one another, as when one would falter or flail, the others became the safe waters that kept the other from drowning in their own stormy inner seas.

Yesterday morning I showed up at Kristine’s house and spent the day there alone, cleaning and bringing order to the chaos that overtakes our life when death is at our door. It was a gift I could give to her, as she has and will again give to me. Allowing those we love and who love us right back to give and receive in due turn, is one of the harbors of grace such a friendship offers. Clean sheets on beds, piles sorted and tucked away, a clean slate for whatever would come next. The doors and windows were open, allowing a spirit of grace and peace to blow in, and struggle and fear to drift out. A harbor of grace to slip into, after her mom had quietly slipped away, free at last of her own capsizing boat.

And today, the first day on this planet without her mom, the harbor of grace is expanding around my dear friend. As she spends the day with her husband of 35 years, her daughters, granddaughters and the love and prayers and tending of all who love her beyond words, she will have safe waters for as long as she has need.

“This is what we have” she says, holding up her left hand, palm up and slightly cupped, as if cradling something fragile and precious. Pausing, she lets her words and the image settle in.

“This is what we want” she continues, holding up her right hand in a similar fashion. There is a gap between her two cupped hands.

“Our pain and frustration, suffering and discomfort come from comparing what we have with what we want. She bangs her two hands together, over and over, demonstrating the inner turmoil and outer frenzy of living in the gap between what we have and what we want.

This is what I have…. That is what I want.

This is how it is….That is how I wish it was.

This is where I am… That where I want to be.

This is when it is….That is when I want it to be.

She stops banging her hands together, and slowly, gently, deliberately… because it is hard to loosen our grip on what we hold so tightly…. she lowers her right hand. Suddenly, the banging stops, and there is no struggle between This and That.

I will never forget the moment when she first held up her hands, giving me a picture that returns again and again, to help me step squarely into what I have, how it is, where I am, and when it is. Held in my left hand is what is true. Depending on the year, the day, the moment, my reality is filled with the good, the bad or the ugly. And more likely, some messy mixture of all three. Savoring the good, healing the bad and transforming the ugly can only happen from the trailhead of This.

Try this right now. Really. Just do it.

Hold up your left hand, filling it with what is true right now. Everything. The good, the bad and the ugly. Look at your cupped hand. Feel what it holds. Take in what is there. Hold it as if cradling something fragile and precious and sacred. Because you are. Held in your left hand is your life and your world, as it is today.

Hold up your right hand. What does it hold that you want, wish, hope, imagine to be true? Less pain, more joy, a flatter stomach, more money, less stress, more freedom, fewer expectations, a different job, more peace? Held in that hand are your visions and goals, hopes and dreams, desires and callings. Whatever is there, take it in. Now, look at what you have and compare it to what you want and bang your hands together. Over and over and over until you can feel the stinging sensation brought on in the comparison between the two.

Now stop.

Drop your right hand.

This is what you have.

What we do with what we have, how it is, where we are, and in this moment is how we make our way from This to That.

The only way.

This post is dedicated to, and with deep love and gratitude for Kristine Van Raden, my dearest friend and partner in crime .

My cell phone rang as Kristine and I walked back to the conference center to facilitate another workshop at the retreat. Gathered at a beautiful resort in Woodstock, NY, the woods ablaze with fall colors, it had already been two days of connection and inspiration, new friends and new ideas. The workshop was one of our favorite topics, a best seller with clients, always a crowd pleaser, resulting in powerful insights for all. Starting of course, with us. Since as everybody knows…”You teach what you need.”

With a few minutes to spare, and seeing that the call was from a client, I decided to answer. “Hey Molly. We’re in a big bind. The person who was going to facilitate the Leadership Experience can’t make it. Would you be able to do it? It starts the day after tomorrow.” Immediately I knew the answer to that question….

A vehement “No!”

As in…

Hell No!

Never!

Not on your life!

That kind of No.

While certified to facilitate the experience, I had yet to actually do so. Not only that, it was going to be with a senior global team, and the facilitator they had really wanted was obviously not me. He had more experience, and was clearly their first choice. Stepping into a big arena, trying to fill big shoes, coming in at the last minute, with people who expected someone else, felt like a recipe for disaster all around. Besides that, getting an earlier flight out would be almost impossible due to our commitment to the current retreat. There was one other tiny little detail. I was terrified. Afraid that I couldn’t do it, wouldn’t meet the high bar set by the group, and couldn’t measure up to their expectations, I respectfully declined, politely thanked him for thinking of me, wished him the best of luck, and hung up the phone, filled with relief. Except the relief kept getting pushed down to make room for something else.

Regret.

My reasons for saying no were logical. It made perfect sense. Still, I had the sense that I had just let myself down. Imperfect as my facilitation might be, was it possible that I was the perfect person for the job, and it the perfect job for me?

It was time for the retreat workshop to begin. Stepping up to kick it off, I couldn’t get that phone call out of my mind. Thankfully, Kristine stepped in and masterfully led the group through the first exercise, allowing me to clear my head of my swirling thoughts. In saying No to the request, I was saying Yes to my fear. In answering No to a big challenge, I was opting for a Yes to playing it safe. Just then I heard Kristine as she continued leading the participants through the exercise, asking them to complete the statement: “If I had the courage, I would………

Oh, did I forget to mention that the topic of our workshop was COURAGE? Oops.

Heads bent over their journals, the participants began to write down as many ideas for completing that sentence as they could. As they finished writing, I stepped back in front to lead them through some reflection on what they had just discovered. Looking into their faces and seeing their courage, they led me back to my own.

As soon as our workshop was over, I called the client back. “Yes. I’ll be there. To be clear, this will be the first time I’ve actually facilitated it, and I won’t have time to review any of the materials. If flying by the seat of my pants is ok with you, I’ll change my flight and be there.” It was a powerful Yes that began as an overwhelming No. Rather than disaster all around, it turned into a blessing for all concerned. Starting of course, with me. Instead of a miserable failure, it was a mighty success. Starting of course, with me.

Now when I experience a knee-jerk “No!” and want to run the other direction, I pull up my boot straps and start walking the scary trail toward Yes.

When our first response is No, can we find the courage to search for the deeper Yes?

Looking out the window of our SUV, we could see a few remnants of possible life. A harrow from an old plow used to till up the rocky, dry soil before planting season, an old wagon wheel, and scattered bits of this and that, all suggesting that at one time there might have been a home or barn here. “I think this must be where it was.” my husband Tom said. We had been driving for over an hour, in search of the old homestead built by my great-grand parents in eastern Washington. I had heard of ‘Rattlesnake Ranch’ in the stories my dad told of growing up during the depression in Waterville, a small rural town where making a living was tough in the best of times. He spent many summer days on that homestead, helping his grandmother gather eggs, poking sticks into nests in the hen-house to scare out any rattlers that had slithered in to get their breakfast, and drawing water from the backyard well. His stories evoked visions of a childhood that was both happy and lonely, hard and adventurous. I’d always longed to go there with him, share a bit of his past, and get a glimpse of what life in that rustic, hand-hewn cabin must have been like. I wanted to see with my own eyes what I had only been able to imagine through his.

We never got the chance to go there together before he died in 2000.

Tom had surprised me, planning this trip on the way home from dropping our last daughter off at college. I was in need of distraction before going home to an empty nest. We had spent the morning in the Douglas County Museum, combing old newspaper clippings, maps, and county records to narrow our search. This was vast country and we wanted to hone in on the most likely location of anything still standing. Maps in hand, we set out, me driving, him navigating. A 4 lane highway gave way to a 2 lane country road, which became a gravel road, dwindling to a dirt one, and finally fading to nothing more than faint wagon tracks. Staring out the car window at the long abandoned detritus of an earlier time, I could feel my spirits sinking down and the tears welling up. My chance at a bucket list visit into my dad’s past was apparently gone. And then for some reason I said out loud, the words that had quietly drifted into my thoughts. “Just one more rise.”

Driving slowly forward to avoid the rocks, ruts and potholes, we crested the next hill. And there it was. Roof falling in, windows broken, the house listing to one side, but still standing. For the next few hours we walked around what was left, wandering the tiny rooms, poking sticks into the hen house nests, and peering down into the well from which my dad pulled up buckets of clear, cold spring water. We took lots of pictures, so that we would be sure to remember what we’d found, all because we had chosen to go over just one more rise.

It would have been so easy to give up. Turn back. Give up the quest. Chalk it up to a good effort.

But we didn’t.

Rattlesnake Ranch now hangs on our wall, framed in wood from one of the old windows we found that day. Lately, when I find myself at what seems to be the end of the trail while in pursuit of a vision or goal, a creative idea or new opportunity, the right words to put onto the page or a door that might open to new possibilities…..whenever it appears that it is time to give up, turn around and head back….I remind myself that what I am looking for might just be over one more rise.

NOW. This moment. Right here. This is when we have. What is the right/best/good/courageous/loving/authentic thing to do now?

HERE. This place. Right here. Thisis where we are.What is the right/best/good/courageous/loving/authentic way to be here now?

THIS. This stuff. Right here. Thisis what we have.What is the right/best/good/courageous/loving/authentic way to use what is true now?

Then is some other time. There is somewhere else. That is something different.

Now hear this…….. Now. Here. This.

* This post was inspired by the April 2, 2015 On Being podcast. Host Krista Tippett interviewed Father Greg Boyle, who is the founder and executive director of Homeboy Industries, a non-profit dedicated to helping former and current gang members turn their lives around. Father Boyle shared that he uses “Now. Here. This.” (also the title of an Off-Broadway play) as a mantra, to remind him to be present with who and what is right in front of him.

Filed under: Acceptance, Authenticity, Courage, inspiration, Truth Tagged: Awareness, life choices, Mindfulness, Present, Reality]]>https://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/04/03/now-here-this/feed/2mattersthatmattermegaphone-155779_640The Gift of Painhttps://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/03/26/the-gift-of-pain/
https://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/03/26/the-gift-of-pain/#commentsThu, 26 Mar 2015 17:51:41 +0000http://themattersthatmatter.com/?p=1182]]> “Be sure and stay ahead of the pain.” Words from the pharmacist years ago as I picked up yet another bottle of addictive pain medication for my 20 year old daughter who had recently had her tonsils removed. Being a “push through the pain” kind of girl, I asked her just what the hell that meant anyway. It seemed to me that having the courage to tough it out was the better approach. One to be proud of and that showed the strong stuff of which I am made. “The body, when faced with the choice of dealing with the pain, or healing the injury, can only focus on one of those and, in the proper order” she replied. ” Resolve the pain. Heal the patient.” In other words healing is hindered when pain is ignored. Heading back home, I resolved to help her heal by helping her resolve her pain.

Our bodies are but a microcosm of the greater whole. Found embodied in our relationships and in the body of the world, pain is everywhere. Close to home and in the farthest reaches of the world. It is within our hearts and our homes, amidst our communities and countries, in the halls of our organizations and schools. Unresolved pain is wracking our planet and threatening our shared futures large and small, and is an indication that there is healing to be done.

Running for cover furthers us from the healing we long for, but can’t see because we are facing the wrong direction.

Hunkering down and refusing to budge drives pain deeper and healing further away.

When it comes to resolving the pain in our lives, none of those lead to the healing that is waiting for us on the other side. Wherever the pain exists, it is calling us to attend to it fully, in order to more fully live. It requires that we dive deeply into the pain in order to get to the bottom of it.

Pain is our call to action in order to heal that which is broken.

Pain is the canary in the mine alerting us that we are running out of air.

Pain is the lighthouse exposing the rocks which will dash our ship to pieces if we don’t steer with care.

Pain is the warning sign alerting us to dangers ahead.

Pain is the breadcrumb path that leads to wholeness.

Pain is the care package that must be unwrapped in order to receive the gift of healing.

Healing trumps holding on to old hurts.

Healing beats clinging to our stories that keep us stuck in old chapters.

Healing always outlasts winning.

Healing outshines the darkness of resentment.

Healing is a cut above the festering wounds of unforgiveness.

Healing forges wholeness out of the holes in our hearts.

Wherever the pain, it is the doorway through which healing awaits. Pain speaks the truth. The truth sets us free.

The house we built started out on a napkin in the bar at Paradise Lodge in the shadow of Mt. Rainier. We were on our way back from dropping the last daughter off at college, and I needed a distraction to keep from thinking about our nest that was now empty. Over a glass of wine my husband and I began to imagine a new nest. A rustic home that we imagined would become a gathering place for those we loved. Eight years later, what we imagined on a napkin now sits firmly grounded in the shadow of Mt. Adams, gathering those we love as often as we can all manage. What we imagined began as thoughts, the thoughts became the words that found our builder, who ordered the supplies that became our home. One board at a time, nail by nail, our house was built, upon the foundation of our thoughts, imagination and words.

The homes we build around our souls are no different. They begin in our imaginations and with our thoughts, becoming the words we speak, and which thought by thought and word by word, build the frameworks within which we live our lives. Are we captive to our thoughts or do we take our thoughts captive? And are those thoughts building homes that isolate and divide, or gather and connect? Do our thoughts throw the windows of our houses open to possibility and meaning, or draw the blinds shut, keeping us small and safe? Life will unfold in ways expected and not. It will be threaded together with the good, the bad and the ugly. At times it will take our breaths away, and at others, threaten to take away our last breaths. Inhabiting our inner homes, we navigate our outer lives. What houses are we drawing on our napkins? What thoughts are we turning into the words that build the houses within which we live?

When I was a little girl, my family and I spent two weeks every summer at the Oregon coast. Two. Whole. Weeks. All year long I counted down the days until we could load up the car and head down to the beach. I counted up my pennies so that I could go for an hour long horse back ride on the beach every day. For Two. Whole. Weeks.

14 days

336 hours

20160 minutes

As soon as we drove down the driveway to the little cottage tucked into the hillside, overlooking Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach, I started counting down.

I only have 13 days left.

I only have 12 days left

I only have 11 days left.

I was so sad about leaving that I forgot to be excited to stay.

The only time we ever have is now.

And now.

And now.

Spending our thoughts in the past, and what could have, should have, would have happened if only, robs us of the moment in which we stand, and creates a filter that distorts our view. Projecting ahead to what might happen, should happen, could happen, pulls the rug of now out from under our feet, and clouds our vision to the current sights for our sore eyes. Mourning the end of my summer days at the beach before they even started, kept me from celebrating the lazy, hazy days of summer that I had.

What will we do with the time we have? It is given to us to spend wisely, thoughtfully, intentionally. Right now I have several friends who are sick, down with the crud. They’ve been given the gift of time to slow down and allow themselves to heal. Another friend is crafting a sabbatical in order to sit in the presence of her present moments, so as to create a more fulfilling future. The schedule for the mother of three who works two and a half days a week, extends to her two gifts of time. One allows her to use her own gifts and talents in her work. The other lets her unwrap the care package of spending time with her kids, creating memories for the future, that can only be created in the present. Currently I lack a steady paycheck, allowing me instead to be compensated with an abundance of time with which to create more meaningful work.

Having less of my life ahead than lies behind, time is becoming more clear for the treasure that it is, prompting me to care more carefully for the hours and minutes freely given to me with each new day. There is no present like the time.

So rather than counting down what we are losing, could we add up what we have right now.

Ann Lamott reminds us that perhaps for the time we have here, we are enrolled in what she refers to as ” Earth School”.

Everyday.

Perhaps some teachers are more apparent than others, but I am wondering if that has more to do with my awareness and willingness to notice rather than the teacher’s willingness to appear. Recently I decided to turn my awareness to the teachers that show up in ordinary yet unlikely places. What could I learn from them? For instance, today I passed a florist shop on the way to the gym with a sign that read, “Get Your Spring On”. While meant to entice passersby to stop and purchase a bouquet of flowers to brighten their desk, or a flat of flowers to plant in pots, I heard a message beyond the marketing. It offered to teach me if I let it.

Spring is that season of the year coming after the dark of winter and before the long days of summer. It is the time when the seeds which have lain quietly dormant in dark earth begin to appear above ground. With the arrival of this new season come the conditions necessary for new life and growth to spring forth, showing the first tender shoots of the full grown plant that is to come. It is the time when the new bud becomes the leaf which will provide food for the tree. The presence of light and rain are, in part, what inspire the new life of spring.

What do we need to get our spring on? What is necessary to call forth that which has been lying in wait, preparing to show itself to a waiting world? What is the energy source that will power the sunlight necessary for the seeds that we’ve sewn to grow? From what well will water come to sustain what wants come to life in our lives?

Filed under: Change, encouragement, Grace, heart, inspiration, Life Lessons, listen Tagged: Beauty, contentment, Discovery, Grace, growth, Joy, Life Lessons, Wonder]]>https://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/03/06/living-a-full-life/feed/6mattersthatmatterIMG_2165X Marks the Spot.https://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/03/03/x-marks-the-spot/
https://themattersthatmatter.com/2015/03/03/x-marks-the-spot/#respondTue, 03 Mar 2015 16:56:04 +0000http://themattersthatmatter.com/?p=1146]]>“No one longs for what he or she already has, and yet the accumulated insight of those wise about the spiritual life suggests that the reason so many of us cannot see the red X that marks the spot is because we are standing on it…. The only thing missing is our consent to be where we are.”

Barbara Brown Taylor

The starting line is here.

Now.

This moment.

Whatever is to come next in our life begins right now.

And right now.

And right now.

It starts with our next step, our next breath, our next thought, our next word, our next choice, our next question, our next answer. Whatever we want our life to be lies squarely beneath our feet. It isn’t out there. It isn’t in the greener grass on the other side. It isn’t in some far away land, a different home, a bigger paycheck or a new relationship, although our next step may eventually lead us there. The only way to get from here, to there, is to begin with what we have right here, right now. The grist for our mill is growing in our own field. Good food for thought is found on our own table. The light for our path is hiding beneath our own bushel. The love we seek resides within our own heart.

That was the question posed earlier this week by our naturopath. My husband and I had scheduled a joint visit to talk to her about our shared sleep issues. Getting a full night of rest is essential. A necessity which was eluding us on a regular basis, resulting in lowered spirits, less focus, and lack of energy.

Tom jumped right in, answering enthusiastically, “I NEVER get bored.”

Wrong answer.

Now, he is curious by nature which is a damn fine attribute to have. Whenever he has a bit of time available, there is more than enough to capture his imagination. He has a never ending list of things he wants to read, listen to, watch, learn and try.

I on the other hand, do get bored, so was pleased when our naturopath smiled and said that I was on the right track. However, when boredom strikes, I don’t let it linger, but rather fill the void as quickly as I can with something akin to mental and emotional novocaine. Binge-watching my current series. Watching a favorite movie. Again. Grabbing whatever book is on the night stand and reading a chapter or two when I am actually going to stay awake for more than a page. Even taking on a wonderfully fulfilling project, like say, deep cleaning the refrigerator, WHILE catching another episode of Suits.

Neither approach was helping us glean gifts that boredom has to offer. Both deny us of the opportunity to explore that which can only be discovered in the gap between doing ‘this’ and ‘that’. The point our naturopath went on to make is that when we don’t allow ourselves to just settle down and be… bored… we also never allow ourselves to re-fill that which gets depleted through constant activity, stimulation, and non-stop information. Doing that over time leads to chronic stress, which hides quietly under our radar screen, keeping us from sleeping soundly and living fully.

What gifts does boredom bear?

Boredom is a chance to bore down, dig in, and plumb my own depths.

Boredom invites me to mine my own earth to discover new treasure.

Boredom offers me a tunnel through the old, and into the new.

Boredom leads me off of the map of the known and into the wilds of discovery.

Boredom opens the lid of that which I would rather not think about, feel or look at in my own life. A lid which I work hard to keep under lock and key, forgetting that looking squarely at what is true is the key to my greatest freedom and fullest life.

So how might we accept the gifts that boredom offers?

When boredom strikes, rather than run for the nearest distraction, might we sit down and settle in? What if we just listen quietly and notice what bubbles up? What if we keep a Boredom Journal and track our trajectory from here to there? What if we mine the treasure of our boredom and put it to good use? What if we use what we learn to mend what is broken in our lives?

What if the willingness to be bored is the key to living a life that is anything but boring?